


Infanticipating

by lusentoj



Category: Gintama
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-06-05 05:49:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15164027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lusentoj/pseuds/lusentoj
Summary: Gintoki lies about being pregnant in order to get free food.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No they're not actually in a relationship when this fic starts.
> 
> Soundtrack was [Miike Snow's "The Rabbit"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tYQyZFZN2bg), If you wanna check it out I recommend ignoring the visuals.

"Damn Amanto technology," Gintoki cursed, while watching his Amanto-technicolor TV, reading his Amanto-color-printed Jump magazine, and sipping his Amanto-pasteurized strawberry milk. He flopped around, feet braced up against the arm of the couch, the shoulder of his kimono sleeve sliding off the nape of his neck — complete with what he wished was a hickey, but instead was just a bruise from the scabbard of Hijikata's sword — to sit in a pooled mess on the ratty couch cushion.

Ketsuno had just finished her morning broadcast again, hair loveily mussed about by the wind and rain of the typhoon blowing behind her. He'd waited for her skirt to blow up by that same typhoon, but sadly the camera hadn't panned down that far. At any rate, the last few words of the broadcast'd caught his ill-attentive interest: _Due to the Amanto xx of planet xy… male pregnancy has occurred… in 1% of Edo's population…_ ".

Ah, that was it. He was pregnant today.

Gintoki rose from the couch, shuffling over to the bathroom sink to check himself in the mirror. Sufficiently yellowed from vitamin deficiency, his eyes. Sufficiently dark from sleep-deprivation, the bags under said eyes. His irritable condition from the drops and spikes in sugar levels, the smell of puke from Sadaharu that never quite went away, yes, he was pregnant.

He slid on his boots, halfway wishing he had the kind of violence-free life where he could wear a pair of geta instead, and walked out the door to look for a victim. In the crowded streets of the Kabuki neighborhood, lighting up to the side of a vending machine, he found one.

"Y-You're _pregnant_?!" Hijikata looked as if he'd just swallowed nigari-flavored yoghurt instead of mayo. Still, with the practiced ease of an addict, his tongue caught the edge of the cig to push it against the inner wall of his lip, keeping it from falling out his mouth. "Who's the other father?"

Gintoki stared at him at if it were obvious and then draped an arm over his shoulder, poking at the soft, lotioned cheek with a pointer finger. "It's _you_ , duh. Who else could it be?"

"Pssh, yeah right. How could it be _me?_ Not even Yamazaki'd fall for that cra—"

"Y'know when we got so drunk we like, couldn't find our way out the door-curtain?"

"Eh? Y'mean… y'can't mean!"

"Yeah, it was probably one of those times. Anyway the damn thing's half yours so at least take me out on a date, like right now, so we can talk this shit out, like right now."

Hijikata glanced around, sweating. Okita was nowhere to be found, but he'd be sure to slip Gintoki a few brown bills and confiscated fetish mags later in the day — thought Gintoki, with a well-suppressed smile.

At the soda bar down the street, run by some self-claimed Amanto with cat ears whose accent sounded suspiciously American, Gintoki watched the guy juggle ice-cream scoops — one harmless venti, dusted, unleaded with room for the chako-kloochman — until he finally received his free _low-sugar_ parfait and sat down at the two-man tables, right across from Hijikata. The man's fingers were stained with ink and tobacco, and calloused hard from the hilt of a sword, and his casual-wear kimono was a dark blue that almost matched nicely against the color of Gintoki's current underwear.

"Thanks for the parfait," says Gintoki, realizing that saying anything that'd raise his odds of getting another one was prob'ly a good idea. At the first spoonful his head started to hurt, and the whole thing tasted oddly metallic, but he ignored it – damn aspartame, damn stevia, damn ~~America~~ Amanto.

Hijikata fired up another smoke-stick. He'd sweated so much the back of his collar was visibly damp, and his legs appeared to be shaking, and Gintoki almost began to pity him.

"So…" started Hijikata, stopping.

"Don't worry your pretty little head, I'll be axin' the kid." says Gintoki, licking at the chopsticks he's using to devour the parfait.

"Good, good…. well, not good, but good." says Hijikata.

"I know, right. Anyway, I need enough cash for the op, and I need it kinda fast, 'cause if it gets too big it all ends up kinda dangerous for the one flushin' it out y'know."

Abortions were expensive, being that recently Japan's birthrate'd fallen so low in comparision to the Amantos' that they'd barely avoided being made entirely illegal.

"I'll see what I can do." Hijikata's words come muffled through the hands covering his face. He runs them through his hair, then lifts the cigarette from his mouth and blows out, noticably not quite towards Gintoki, who lifts his face to stare directly into Hijikata's eyes in what he hopes is an unnerving manner. "I heard there's another operation, or some meds or some shit," he says, very seriously, "so this can't ever happen again."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. So you won't have to worry about using casing —"

"I can't even remember one fuck, let alone all the fucks, including if there was casing or not." says Hijikata quietly. Gintoki looks down, fast, hands wiping at his eyes as if tearing up.

"It's alright, I get it. We'd just better do it dry sometime after this, y'know, just for the memories — I mean I like booze, but'm pretty sure your technique's even better without it. And uh, what with this situation and all, it feels pretty weird to not even remember the one time that made this all happen… y'know?"

Hijikata doesn't answer, cheeks blooming into a pale pink. It's the first time he's been confessed to, or rather prepositioned by, by someone already aware of his mayonnaise, his workism, his dislike of _yes sir, no sir, it is a monumental regret sir_ formal language and menthol cigarettes.

He picks up his straight, no-room coffee and chugs it, as if it'll clear his head. "I'll try to start getting paid for overtime," he says, and stands to leave, hand almost reaching out to the louse before coming to its senses and returning to his side. "See you."

"See you." Gintoki watches him go, watches the slight rise of the hem of his kimono as he takes each step. Then starts to drink the melted remnants of his parfait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Nigari" (苦汁 "bitter liquid") or apparently "bittern" in English is like, concentrated seawater that's chock-full of minerals, tastes really nasty if you drink it straight and is used to harden soymilk in order to turn it into tofu, or is used to pickle stuff.
> 
> Chako-kloochman just means "(will) become a wife/woman" in Chinook Jargon, saying "someone who's gonna pop out a kid" was too long.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm trying. This is my first multichapter fic in pretty much my whole life, so keep your hat on.

Ah, the first installment of many towards his little "cure". As he enters the pachinko club he feels the familiar, overwhelming scent of tobacco and sweat meet him in a heavy pressure in his lungs, the ringing of the machines and the sound of the background music almost deafening. After some hours and several thousand yen, the scenes of several videos permanently blazed into his eyeballs, he weaves his way through a maze of seats towards the hub for instant soup and condoms and cheap ale.

There, tucked away in a darkened corner of the shop, leaning in the shadows of three vending machines, he finds Hijikata resting his eyes in a cloud of smoke. Face gaunt and deathly haggard.

"What's up, Officer? So busy thinking of Gin-san you can't sleep at night, eh?"

"As if. What're y'doing here, anyway? Wasting my money on pachinko?". Hijikata's arm goes for his sword, the white sleeve of his shirt peeking out from the cuff of his uniform as he does so, but the movement is shaky and slow.

"Nah, doctor's orders." says Gintoki with a flat tone, pulling out a copy of Jump to use as a fan towards the cloud of smoke that's thickening and thickening in front of his face. "Apparently with enough booze, smoke and shitty meals your system might decide you're an unfit parent'n take care of things for you."

"Oh? That didn't stop half of Edo from being born," and Hijikata moves a tiny bit closer, managing to breathe smoke directly into Gintoki's mouth, "but I'll help you out then."

Gintoki doubles over, coughing.

"What the hell, is this some kinda fetish?!"

They can barely hear each other and soon Hijikata crouches down to Gintoki's level, attempting to speak loudly right into the base of his ear, cigarette smouldering between the fingers of a hand resting at his knee. Gintoki eyes the proximity of the cigarette butt. "I can't get overtime pay, so I'll be trying to save money in other ways — not that you deserve it."

"Oh but I'm sure y'have a nice, fat salary that all goes to smokes'n mayo." Gintoki hints, nudging him hard in the stomach with the tip of an elbow.

"No can do." Hijikata blows smoke into his face again, and Gintoki in his already-precarious squatting position topples to sit on the floor in an attempt to avoid it, eyes watering. They watch each other for a moment, among the blare of the machines and the flashing neon lights coming from all directions, and he thinks Hijikata almost grows closer before sighing and: "Smoke rises, you bastard, so — "

"Hijikata-kun." Gintoki holds a hand up; it was about time to continue the charade. "It's nice flirting with you n'all, but I'm feeling a bit pukey. The bun in the oven's flipping over or something. I'll see y'around."

"A-Ah, is that so. My bad." Hijikata backs off, seeming vaguely embarrassed.

Gintoki stands, straightens his kimono, and leaves. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Hijikata light a second cigarette, pressing his hands to his eyes before running them through his hair, cheeks slightly flushed.

When Gintoki arrives at his apartment it's to see Otose at the bottom of the steps, just about to head on up to his quarters. Her kimono is fine, as usual — too fine for a mere bartender. "You're five months late on the rent again, good-for-nothing." she says, but quells in surprise as Gintoki dips into his chest pocket for his wallet.

"Yeah, yeah. Lucky for you, I've got a month and a half's rent right here," handing over what he didn't end up spending at the pachinko. The rest is in his second wallet.

"Gintoki..." says Otose, concerned. "You're selling yourself in the streets, ain'cha? Make sure you consult someone about it first — if your price's too low your hips'll give out before you know it, and if your price's too high..."

"Of course I'm not, y'senile old hag! I just got lucky with a rich client, is all. Now lemmie go read Jump in peace."

Gintoki stalks up the stairway, unlocks the door and slams it shut, wooden frame rattling dangerously. He kicks off his shoes before the step in the entryway and collapses onto the couch, calling out for Kagura, Shinpachi. Upon hearing no reply, he checks for an unannounced appearance of Ketsuno on the TV, pushes himself up onto his forearms and shuffles his way to the crapper where he can fantasize in peace — no deep-love enthusiasts to spy on his alone time.

After his hands have already undone his belt he suddenly realizes his clothes will smell like smoke for days, and so will his Jump. That final scene of Hijikata, tired, a faint dust of pink, hunched over pathetically at the base of the vending machine, niggles at the corner of his thoughts even as he tries to conjure something else.

 _Dammit_ , he thinks, hand stilling, legs comfortably apart, considering switching locale to the bath. _It's not my problem_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've returned from the glamourous life of a working man to the dirt-poor life of a NEET! If you wanna pay me to write/translate original fic, hit me up!
> 
> Soundtrack was stuff by Beirut.
> 
> EDIT: CHAPTER FOUR IS POSTED AS A SEPARATE FIC!!:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/17123192

"You're almost late, perma-perm."   
    
Hijikata stubbed out the miniscule end of his cigarette by spitting it onto the ground, smashing it with the heel of his foot and then picking it up gingerly with two fingers wary of being burnt, tossing it into the nearby metal receptacle. He had a plastic bag at his sandaled feet, which clinked suspiciously as he raised the handles.  
  
"Kondo gave me the tickets, so don't expect much." he said as Gintoki eyed the rows of face shots on the wall, casual Japanese beauties with at least shoulder-length hair.  
  
"What're we seeing?"    
    
"Some flick Okita can't join in on." The plastic clinked again.  
  
Ten minutes later and the girl's legs were already spread wide by the hands of the shrine statue turned animate, uniform partially discarded, crying out in breathy abandonment even as she chanted the counter-spell. Gintoki, sitting to the right, reached over into Hijikata's lap to take the bottle of alcohol and pour himself a second glass.  
  
"It wasn't like this with us, right?" Hijikata asks, as if he needs Gintoki on his side. Fingering the side of his 100-yen ceramic cup and waiting for the red tinge of the drink to crawl up to his neck and cheeks.  
  
"Living statues? I'd be running for my life... I mean, for my dick's life." responds Gintoki deep in his chair, checking his lap just to be sure nothing's grown. Nope, the actress still looks too much like Otae.  
  
"No you dumbass, against the wall in public."  
  
"Oh. Uhh... Gin-chan prefers a nice, expensive hotel bed."  
  
"To you even the cheapest room in Kabuki-cho's expensive, except a cardboard box." mutters Hijikata into the rim of his cup, which has magically emptied again.  
  
Gintoki's face somewhat pales. "What? Did you hear about that?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"...Here, have another drink."  
  
There was probably no one else in the theater room at this time of day, not that he'd attempted to look around. Hijikata's arm had at some point come to rest across the back of Gintoki's chair, in order to pull the bottle out of his hand in one easy swoop whenever needed.   
  
The scene had changed, now Shrine Girl was held up in the air by tight-pressing, oil-slicked ropes tied to the rafters of the shrine warehouse. A second statue had turned to life, engorged and dripping with translucent, liquid polish, and Hijikata shifted in his seat when the two came together to touch at her back end.  
  
"You like ropes?" asks Gintoki right into his ear, noticing the movement. While he's at it, he fumbles for the cup that should be in Hijikata's lap, because amidst his fourth and fifth cup he's somehow lost his own.  
  
"...Not interested," comes the reply, although his face seems to say otherwise. "You?"  
  
"Oh yeah, same as any male." And he drinks the rest of what was in Hijikata's cup, head swimming a little as he tilts it back.  
  
"Not everyone has the same hobbies, Yorozuya." The arm was back, warm against the nape of his neck and heavy on his right shoulder. Gintoki kept holding onto both bottle and cup, Hijikata appearing to make no move for it.   
  
Amidst the sounds of women and men on-screen, Gintoki says in slightly slurred curiousity, "What're your hobbies, then?".   
  
Hijikata's voice was right at the base of his ear, and his hand was wrapped around the bottleneck still in Gintoki's lap. The bottle presses lightly into him, hard glass nudging up and down. "Dunno. Y'can't remember?"  
  
Warm breath, clearly unsober, planned or not he can't tell. His earlobe is kissed, and then the side of his neck, body held in place by the one arm across his shoulders and the other pressing into his leg. On screen a translucent sauce shined everywhere, ex-maiden tossing in the throes of passion bestowed upon her by an invisible ghost from her secondhand bedside table, white, summer sheet long tossed aside, neglige pushed up to reveal tiny, shivering mounds.  
  
Gintoki is warm and loose from the drink. "You're payin'," he says, as Hijikata nips his shoulder over clothing before kissing at the base of his ear again, hand sliding into his kimono, into his halfway-unzipped shirt.   
  
It'd be fine to get a hotel room, dump the man to sleep on the floor, and for once not collapse at dawn, lush-like, over his own entryway step. It had nothing to do with the feelings that washed over him when he closed his eyes at night, or regret, or _compassion_ \--  
  
The bottle, almost empty, kept nudging and nudging around until it found something sensitive. "I --" and Hijikata keeps moving, nipping the edge of his ear, wetly, the pants and gasps of the woman flowing around them, and Gintoki squirms in his seat. "Oi."  
  
With the odd lightness of the bottle, he notices just then that it is almost empty. Hijikata, face flushed red, hands warm, puts one hand at the base of his chin as if to make certain where it is, then brings his face closer, ah, closer, surprisingly close, into a touch of the lips in the theater darkness. Glass bottle still pressing softly against his crotch, when he moved it moved, when it moved it excited.  
  
"Hotel?" says Hijikata, and Gintoki can feel the sweat on his skin.  
  
"You're paying." says Gintoki, again.  
  
\------------  
  
He begins to regret in the hotel bathroom, but then Hijikata reveals a second bottle.   
  
"Ahhh, y'know how t'win over a guy." says Gintoki, drinking straight from the neck, rolled over on his side at the edge of the bed.  
  
"You're easily won." Hijikata replies and presses in next to him, immediately sliding a hand down the elastic strap of Gintoki's undershorts. He almost drops the bottle, capping it securely and rolling it away into the corner of the room; Hijikata's grip unrelentingly pleasurous, firm, calloused and slick. Somehow unhesitating. Gintoki grows warmer and warmer on the bedsheet as Hijikata kisses him again, this time at the base of his shaft.

The rest of the night is spent in a long blur. When Hijikata mumble-confesses, half-asleep, that he's been dreaming of them ever since the child revelation -- Gintoki shuts his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't intend for the s3x0rs to come this quickly, nor did the ch turn out as good as I'd hoped it to be.
> 
> * My impression from Japan is that big photos of face shots = dirty businesses. I could be wrong.
> 
> * "Hobby, interest" is slang for like... like "sexuality". In Japanese. Read enough BL and you'll find it (or just go watch Psycho Pass).
> 
> * Wrote the cardboard box line intending it to reference Hasegawa and instead all I can think of is that scene from 嫌がってるキミが好き (if you like Harada go find it.)
> 
> * Unrelated but I found out "spicy" (spicita) is Esperanto slang for "erotic". Naturally my thoughts jumped to Hijikata and those spicy senbei. HMMM...

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Bedsheet Tumble](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17123192) by [lusentoj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lusentoj/pseuds/lusentoj)




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